Act Two: Master of Puppets
by Fuzzy Elf
Summary: TNA fic. Second in a trilogy. Chris Sabin's decision to join Raven and commit to his twisted teachings forces Alex Shelley's hand into revealing his plans sooner than he had intended, and Bound for Glory promises to be full of surprises...
1. Chapter 1

Act Two

Master of Puppets

It was two weeks after No Surrender that Alex Shelley's antics nearly got the best of him in the form of Sonjay Dutt and Jay Lethal.

The two X-Division wrestlers had searched for Chris Sabin for hours after his bloodthirsty attack on Petey Williams at the pay-per-view. Their minds had been a mess of confused thoughts, gory images and tangled emotions as they had tried to make sense of the carnage they had just witnessed at the hands of their friend (or someone they had believed to be their friend). There had been no understanding it; Sabin had acted completely out of character and, even in his worst mood, they would never have thought him capable of what he had done.

To top it all off, he had disappeared from the building along with his new mentors, Raven and Jackie Gayda. Dutt and Lethal had no way of finding out the motive behind Sabin's actions. Thus, they had, in their frustration, resolved to seek out Shelley and made good on the promise they had made after his partner, Kevin Nash, had obliterated Sabin at Hard Justice: to rearrange his face.

Much to their chagrin, Shelley and his cohorts had been nowhere to be found.

Somehow Shelley managed to completely elude them through the following _Impact_ show (taking great personal delight in hearing of their growing anxiety), but they inevitably caught up with him the next week. Due to an atypical lapse in judgment, Shelley found himself cornered outside the washroom without any backup.

"Guys!" he smiled nervously. "Where ya been? I was looking all over for you after the pay-per—"

"Can it, Shelley."

"—view…um, kay."

"This is all _your_ doing, isn't it?" Dutt demanded. "_You_ set Chris up so that Raven could mess with his head. This is all some stupid payback from the World X Cup, right?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, reel it back in there, Slick! When did you become a conspiracy theorist, anyway?" Shelley was preparing to do some fast talking. "If you recall, I _tried_ to warn you all about Big Kev before the finals," he said, referring to the video footage he had shown his then-Team USA teammates, documenting Kevin Nash's intention of destroying the X-Division. "Why would I have done that if I held any grudges against you? Even if you _did_ do your best to alienate me."

"You _joined_ Nash right after that!"

"Well, if you're going to nitpick then we're clearly not going to get anywhere. Look, Alex Shelley has to do what's right for Alex Shelley."

"And that includes handing Chris over to Raven?" Lethal reiterated Dutt's earlier claim.

"I don't know anything about that!"

"Bullshit, Shelley! We _saw_ you watching the match at No Surrender," Dutt countered. "You looked _way_ more interested than your everyday spectator."

"Well, _yeah_ – to get an idea of your boy's new attitude. Big Kev wanted me 'n Johnny—"

Dutt grabbed the front of Shelley's orange 'Eye Spy' Paparazzi Productions t-shirt with both hands. "Wanted you to what? To take notes on how to finish him off? You know what, Shelley? You've had this coming for months now. I'm _so_ going to enjoy this."

It was Shelley, however, who would have the last laugh. His dark eyes darted around in search of a means of escape until he spied Jerry Lynn emerge from another room, clipboard in hand, intently studying a pile of notes. A wry grin spread across his face.

"Not as much as I will," he replied smugly and proceeded to scream bloody murder. Lynn was on the scene before either Dutt or Lethal knew what was happening.

"Sonjay! Break it up, _now_!" Lynn commanded, tearing him off Shelley. "What is going on here?"

"Captain Aggravated Assault here totally jumped me for no reason!" Shelley squawked, holding his arm as though Dutt had injured it.

Lynn ignored him. "Didn't I tell you – _both_ of you – not to do anything stupid?"

"_Stupid_?" Dutt spat, the vein in his forehead dangerously close to bursting. "It's pretty much the best idea I've had in a long time!"

"Since what happened to Chris is _his_ fault and all!" Lethal agreed.

"This is because I'm white, isn't it?"

"I don't care _whose _fault it is," Lynn continued to pretend not to hear Shelley. "I specifically told you to steer clear. And when I tell you to do something, you do it!"

"This is a hate crime, you know!"

"Shut _up_, Shelley!" Dutt snarled, taking a swing at him. Shelley narrowly jumped out of the way.

"Alex, _out_!" Lynn grabbed him by the back of the neck and all-but-threw him in the opposite direction before going back to chewing out the other two men.

As he dragged his feet down the hall, Alex Shelley cast one last pathetically simple look over his shoulder and whined, "Big Kev's gonna hear about this!" before cracking a smile and fighting the urge to laugh until he was safely out of hearing range. The sound was an equal mix of satisfaction and relief.

If they only knew…

* * *

"How close they come, yet how decidedly short they fall."

Raven chuckled audibly; with every passing moment he was more impressed with Alex Shelley's subtle manipulation. The confrontation he had just witnessed below couldn't have gone better if the young man had planned it. Clearly Shelley realized that he could only duck opponents – and livid ones, at that – for so long without appearing smarter than he was letting on. No doubt he had been prepared to 'take one for the team' had the opportunity to play the cowardly squealer not presented itself. Either outcome supported his role of hapless tool in the employ of Kevin Nash. His secret agenda was in no danger of being exposed.

The respect he felt forming for Shelley's tactics greatly amused Raven, as did the slight pang of jealousy toward the boy's under-the-radar position. Part of him wished he still had that luxury, before his superior intellect had become common knowledge.

The rest of him reveled using that intellect to pull the strings of each and every puppet he encountered.

Raven put his musings aside and leaned toward Chris Sabin, who sat at his left. The youth, new to the vantage point of the rafter perch, had taken in the scene with eager, wide eyes. He had learned remarkably quickly in his short time as Raven's pupil, and had hungrily devoured every scrap of truth his mentor had fed him. These secrets that had previously been hidden from him (though Raven insisted that they would never have been hidden had he possessed the discipline to open his eyes) had become addictive and he frequently begged to hear more.

Now, as Raven extended his arm to point at Shelley, Sabin's spine straightened and he fixed rapt attention on the target.

"Even from his distance you can read his face, can you not? Can you see the insincerity that masks his true thoughts? Can you sense the lie that reinforces his feigned cowardice?"

Sabin felt like he was seeing Shelley for the first time. He had faced him in the ring on multiple occasions, and it was no secret that Shelley was a strong, fast and technically sound competitor. But just now he had called for Jerry Lynn to break off Dutt and Lethal where they had cornered him. Though all signs indicated that he was afraid of them, logically that conclusion made no sense. And now, the look on his face…

"Why would he punk out if he didn't have to?" he asked. "Guys like that, like Bentley and Petey—" and here he smirked remorselessly, "—usually they're trying to look like the big man and picking fights. Mouth writing cheques the ass can't cash, y'know? Getting Jerry to rescue him makes him the little bitch. Nobody will respect him. At least if he'd gotten his ass kicked he'd have some credibility."

Raven exchanged a knowing smile with Jackie, who sat at his right. "Those are precisely the questions we asked ourselves when we first began watching him."

The missing puzzle piece clicked into place in Sabin's brain. "If nobody suspects him now, nobody will see it coming when he makes his move." His eyes shone. "That's genius."

* * *

"_So, um, we might have a little problem._"

"_Oh, really?_ _What's up? Or down? That's what the kids say these days, right?_"

"_Yeah, 'what's going down' or 'what's the 411' or, actually, y'know big guy, to be perfectly honest, the kids these days say whatever you say._"

"_Oh yeah?_"

"_Oh, absolutely, you're the trendsetter._"

"_Yeah, like, you're the role model for the youth of America._"

"_Aren't _you _Canadian?_"

"_Exactly._ _That's how big you are, dude._"

"_Wow._"

"_Impressive, isn't it, Kev?_"

"_**Wow**_"

Alex Shelley's latest 'Paparazzi Productions' video was rolling for a captivated audience, both backstage and in the _Impact Zone_. As usual, Shelley and Devine had begun by feeding Nash's considerable ego.

"_So, what was that problem?_"

"_Well, I'm just a little confused, I guess. I mean, all the stuff you've been teaching us was designed to take Sabin out, if I'm not mistaken. Like, pretty much grind him under the boots, right?_"

"_Right._"

"_Okay, but me 'n Johnny were watching his match at __No Surrender__, 'cause we thought it was a little questionable that he was back since you took care of him and all. And, I mean, I dunno, Kev. He's all bad ass and shit now._"

"_Totally bad ass._"

"_And it just occurred to us that this little transformation may be cause for concern_."

"_Had you not_—"

"_Right, had you not taken care of him already_."

"_Okay, I can see where you guys are coming from with this, but I have to tell you, there's really no need to worry your pretty little heads about it_."

"_Really?_"

"_Oh yeah – he's playing right into my hands. Take a look at what history has to teach us about 'The Big Return.' Everybody tries to come back after having their teeth kicked down their throat – which, might I add, I think actually improved Sabin's looks_."

"_You did a tremendous job_."

"_Exactly._ _So anyway, they come back with a new look and tough-guy attitude and strut around like they're all that and a bag of potato chips. Sting, for example_."

"_You mean how he shed the surfer digs for the Crow look and hunted Hogan for a year before finally beating him for the title?_"

"_Okay, bad example._ _The point is: I've got him right where I want him_."

"_I am __**so**__ relieved_."

"_As if we doubted you_."

"_I'm ashamed, actually_."

"_Totally ashamed_."

"_Listen, don't dwell on it. Contrary to what people may believe, I am not out to destroy the X-Division; I want to help it! I know my methods are a little unorthodox, but rest-assured you will all be better for it. From now on, just let me handle the thinking and you two just stand there, run the camera and look good_."

"_Oh, will do!_"

"_But, if it will calm your minds, why don't I just go ahead and settle this once and for all? I will postpone that X-Division title shot that I deserve after all these years of dedication and challenge Sabin to a grudge match_."

"_You would do that?_"

"_As God as my witness, I will take one for the team_."

"_You, Kevin Nash, are a prince_."

"_A peach_."

"_A gem_."

"_Guys, stop! You're embarrassing me!_"

"_Okay_."

"_Wait…you're really stopping?_"

"_A saint_."

"_A doll_."

"_I am in __**awe**_."


	2. Chapter 2

Jerry Lynn was stretched thin.

Anybody could see that the chaotic atmosphere of the locker room these days was taking its toll on him as he tried to maintain some semblance of control. AJ Styles tried at first to help him as much as he could, but as one half of the tag team champions his main priorities lay elsewhere. Lynn didn't blame him; he wasn't here to baby-sit. And while it was Jim Cornette who was toted as 'The Face of TNA Management,' his interests tended to revolve around the NWA World Heavyweight title. Any managerial duties outside of that area did not concern him, and the task of dealing with any and all backstage tension fell squarely on Lynn's shoulders.

Sonjay Dutt and Jay Lethal had finally taken his advice and had stopped actively hunting Alex Shelley, but that didn't mean that they weren't already marked men. And if they were, Lynn knew that he was to blame.

It wasn't the first time he'd admitted as much; the guilt had come tumbling out during a rambling apology to Chris Sabin the night of Hard Justice. The kid had been disoriented and barely conscious after the beating he'd suffered at the hands of Kevin Nash, and while Lynn had suspected that he hadn't heard a thing he'd said, the words had come out anyway.

"_Tonight wasn't some tournament. There was no spirit of competition. If there had been, you would have thrived. That's your element and nobody can deny that. But Nash declared war on the X-Division. And in war, you don't send one soldier into the line of fire, no matter how brave he is. I'm not questioning your heart, Chris. You fought for your life out there. But how were you supposed to fight for something when it's divided against itself?_

"_Nash won the war the day Shelley joined his side. By turning the X-Division on each other he could watch it self-destruct with minimal effort on his part. And I think…maybe we should have laid low until he got bored and then rebuilt from there. The way it is now, all we accomplished by having you stand up to him was giving him names and faces to keep him interested._"

It had made him sick to say the words then, and remembering them now sent a wave of anger through his body. It was understandable that he should have felt disappointed after the match, but to have said those things, to have implied that Sabin had never been up to the task was inexcusable. To entertain the possibility of Nash's 'Size Matters' campaign possessing truth enough to justify the X-Division simply hiding itself away until the danger had passed was unacceptable. It was the easy way out, and Jerry Lynn never took the easy way out in anything.

Not from the immense physical punishment he gave and took in his youthful rivalry with Sean Waltman on the independent circuit.

Not during the constant pain of his Summer Series with Justin Credible, his grueling wars with Rob Van Dam or his maddening abdominal injury that knocked him out of contention for the Television Title in ECW.

Not from the sinful misuse of his raw talent in both WCW and WWF and the frustration it spawned.

Not while building the fledgling TNA's X-Division alongside a ruthless Low Ki and a young, rebellious AJ Styles.

Never.

And there was no way that he was going to take the easy road now by cutting Sabin loose and leaving him to Raven and his sadistic teachings. He fully believed that it was his lack of belief in the kid that had landed them all in this mess, and he wasn't about to turn a blind eye on him now.

Earlier in the week he'd had the opportunity to do so as Traci Brooks and SoCal Val had come to him with questions regarding their schedules. It would have been so simple to unleash his fury and blame them for the night Sabin had disappeared because they had lured an infatuated Jay Lethal away from his guard. He had stopped himself before his lecture had begun, however, and had let them off the hook. The time had come to 'man up,' as Sabin would have quipped, and take action on what had happened rather than dispense fault. He had a responsibility to bring the kid back to his senses and he knew that it wouldn't be easy.

He didn't want it to be.

* * *

"Chris! Yo, Sabin! Hold up, bro!"

Sabin's back arched at the sound of Jay Lethal's voice and he prepared himself to weather the inevitable storm of inquiries into his recent actions. Obviously there was no way his former friends could ever understand his motives and the thought of even _trying_ to explain to them made his head hurt.

"Where you been, dude?" Lethal was clearly trying to ease his way into the awkward questions through small talk. Sabin almost outright laughed at him.

"Around," he replied evenly.

Sonjay Dutt was nowhere near as subtle as his companion. "Too ashamed to show your face after what you did to Williams?"

This time Sabin did laugh. "Ashamed? I have _nothing_ to be ashamed about. Petey was a mosquito that needed to be swatted – simple as that."

"That's sick."

"That's life," he returned with a smile that was uncharacteristically cruel and twisted his face into something that contained no trace of the sweet, boyish charm for which he used to be known. "And it was fun."

Lethal looked revolted. "What the hell happened to you, man?"

"Salvation," Sabin answered without hesitation. "My eyes are open, boys, and I'm finally getting the respect I _deserve_." He gestured to those standing in the vicinity; Jeremy Borash and Christy Hemme, TNA's acting reporters, both in constant search of the next juicy interview, averted their eyes. "It's written all over their faces."

"That's disgust," Dutt shot at him.

"That's _fear_," Sabin corrected. "And it's about damn time people started getting that I'm not some harmless little kid anymore."

"Nobody ever _said_ you were harmless! Anybody who's ever been in the ring with you knows how good you are! But that doesn't mean you should start acting like a God damn jackass!" Dutt was seething at what he was hearing. His respect for Sabin had been as both a friend and competitor, and he'd always considered him to be a role model (along with AJ Styles) for how the code of the X-Division should be upheld. But now… "I mean, who the hell do you think you are?"

Sabin smirked, sighed overdramatically and scratched the back of his head. "I knew you wouldn't get it. And now that's two minutes of my life I'll never get back. Thanks, guys, but, if you're finished, I've got some big boy things to take care of."

As a final condescending insult, Sabin reached out to pat him on the head but Dutt furiously knocked his arm away. Sabin snorted a laugh as he turned to leave and Dutt had to count backward from ten very deliberately to keep from swinging his tightly clenched fist into his ex-best friend's jaw.

Lethal put a hand on Dutt's shoulder. "It's gotta be the concussion or something, right? We've just gotta keep telling ourselves that it's not really Sabin."

"Only one problem, Jay," Dutt replied. "I think it is."

* * *

Raven stepped back into the shadows as Sabin passed. While the youth had handled the confrontation ideally, it was impossible to ignore the fact that Dutt and Lethal were definitely potential problems. Their unwillingness to allow Sabin to go gently into that dark night had Jerry Lynn's influence written all over it. They would have to be dealt with – swiftly and severely.

But in the meantime, first things first.

"Take a picture, Douglas," he said aloud in an uncharacteristically blunt and un-wordy manner, "it will last longer."

Shane Douglas, known throughout the wrestling world as 'The Franchise,' stepped out from the darkened interior of the room opposite him and laughed. "Damn that radar of yours is a handy skill to have."

"One of the many assets with which I was born," Raven replied evenly. "Though let's be honest: you're not exactly built for stealth."

Douglas laughed again in his trademark sinister cackle. "Fair play to you. But I'd rather have brains as my specialty any day. I knew that if I tailed the kid long enough I'd find you."

Raven's smile contradicted the serious flash in his eyes. "If any of your plans involve him I would strongly suggest you think again. That boy is to be my greatest creation. I won't stand for anyone who seeks to get in my way."

"Gonna put right where you screwed up with Kidman, huh?"

"In a manner of speaking. Those days are full of personal failures due to my lack of foresight where the future of our business was concerned. Rather than finding one mind worthy of receiving my tutelage, I surrounded myself in brainless, unquestioning minions. Billy Kidman was capable and could have been an awesome force had I not been too selfish to allow it. That is something I deeply regret."

Douglas considered Raven's deadly honest words before continuing. "Well, you can relax. I ain't here for the kid. My business is strictly with you." Raven ever-so-slightly raised one eyebrow but kept silent and waited for Douglas to explain. "I'm setting right a regret of my own: the fact that we never worked together."

"You weren't in my league."

"Maybe not, but I sure as hell kept an eye on you. When you've got a plan – I mean when you've really got something sweet cooked up – you're unstoppable. And I can tell that's what you've got now."

"So?"

"I want in."

Raven caught his laugh before it showed on his face as he realized Douglas was serious and instead considered the offer carefully. In his youth, Douglas had possessed a strength and technical prowess that had been rivaled only by his prominent ego. These days, while his aging body was in less-than-ideal condition, he was certainly not without assets. "What's in it for me?"

Douglas grinned. "You have your protégé. I have two of my own. Chase and Andy have come a long way since I pulled them back out of the gutter they'd buried themselves in. All they need is that one chance to prove it. And, as a tag team, my Naturals perfectly complete a certain structure for you, if you follow what I'm saying."

"Somewhat impossible to miss, I think," Raven countered, but a smile had crept its way onto his face. "Nevertheless, you've convinced me to extend to you the rare opportunity you seek. It just so happens that there is a pair of…minor irritations that require immediate removal."

Douglas followed Raven's brief glance down the hallway to where Dutt and Lethal had confronted Sabin mere minutes ago and laughed. "Consider it done."

"Splendid."

With nothing more to be said on the matter, Douglas turned to leave but just as quickly stopped as though he'd had a second thought. He turned back and carefully scrutinized Raven's attire as if noticing it for the first time: faded torn jeans cut off below the knee, old black sneakers, a worn once-black Nirvana T-shirt covered by a heavy black leather jacket and a washed-out long-sleeved plaid button shirt tied around his waist. It was not what he had become accustomed to wearing these days.

"By the way," Douglas nodded in acknowledgement of the grungy clothing's significance, "nice to see you looking like your old self again."


	3. Chapter 3

The remaining days before October 22nd passed rapidly and the buzz surrounding the much-anticipated Bound for Glory pay-per-view had been steadily culminating. It was to be TNA's biggest event to date, and the matches that were already booked supported that idea entirely. Kevin Nash was taking on Chris Sabin and his new attitude in a grudge match. Tag team champions AJ Styles and Christopher Daniels were putting their titles on the line against Konnan's Latin American Xchange soldiers, Homicide and Hernandez. Shane Douglas had worked his magic and his team, the Naturals, was now set to face the ever-popular high-flying duo of Jay Lethal and Sonjay Dutt in a No-Holds Barred match. And Sting was getting ready to complete his quest to rid the company of the maniacal Jeff Jarrett, pitting his career against a bid for the NWA World Heavyweight title.

Alex Shelley was preparing to have at least one more high-stakes match added to that already-impressive lineup.

"Hey, Kev!" he called out to where Nash was standing, mid-interview, with Christy Hemme. The big man waved a greeting and Shelley and Devine jogged up to him. "All ready for tonight, big guy?"

"Oh, yeah – did a nice, light workout this morning to loosen up. Perfected my triple moonsault. We're good to go."

"That _is_ a thing of beauty."

"Is my fly down again…oh, oh the moonsault? I would have to agree with you," Nash smiled winningly at Christy, who raised an eyebrow at his characteristically tongue-in-cheek comment. "So, now, what's up? You look like you have something on your mind."

"Yeah, I've been thinking," Shelley began to fidget as if unsure of how to put his thoughts into words. Devine gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "It's all that stuff you've been telling me about stepping up and taking credit for ideas and making my mark, y'know…to get to the big leagues like you?"

"You're on the path, kid. I'll take you places."

"Well, that's just it, see? I think I'm ready to do it."

"You think?"

"Oh, I _know_ I am! I can _do_ it! You are totally my Yoda and I have learned well the ways of the Force."

"That's my boy!" Nash beamed. "But if you really are ready then there's one more thing I have to tell you."

"What's that?"

Nash suddenly became serious. He clasped his hands over Shelley's shoulders and maintained direct eye contact. "Alex…I am your father."

"Wh…really?"

"Nah. I'm just messing with you."

"You old scallywag, you got me again! You always do that to me!"

Even Christy had a hard time keeping a straight face after that exchange but she stayed quiet and kept the microphone pointed at them. While she had far from finished her assigned pre-event interview with Nash, every reporter instinct she had told her that there was an even juicier story being cooked up right now.

"There's only one catch that I can think of," Shelley transitioned back to the point of the conversation. A sly look briefly flashed across his face too quickly for anyone to catch, save for those who were looking for it. "But it shouldn't be a problem if everything you've told me is true."

"Which it is."

"Exactly. So, the way I see it, you're tied up with Sabin tonight, instilling a little much-needed respect into him for the X-Division icon that you are. And I was _thinking_ that, since you're such a legend, after you're finished with him then you really don't have anything left to prove in the ring." He was talking fast and paused only for a moment to exchange a grin with Devine. "But if a student of yours were to accomplish a task, and in doing so achieve a level of greatness comparable to your own, then it would totally prove you as not only a master _in_ the ring, but outside as well."

Nash looked genuinely impressed. "I like your big-picture thinking, kid, and I think I see where you're going with this: a certain number-one contender's position for the X-Division title, perhaps?"

Shelley spread his arms wide. "Sharp as a tack, Kev! We are clearly on the same page here! So what do you say: give me the chance I need to prove myself?"

Nash scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Now, I know you well enough to know that _you_ know that, traditionally, this sort of thing has to be earned. And I know you're not one to look for a free ride."

"Perish the thought!"

"Then I propose a battle on the field of honour. If you can best me, the title shot is all yours."

Shelley watched hesitantly as Nash extended his hand – thumb pointed upward and fingers slightly curled – and took a deep breath before locking his hand in the other's vice-like grip. Their thumbs quivered in anticipation and Shelley set his jaw, glaring into Nash's cool, emotionless eyes. Devine took his unspoken cue and moved between them, taking their hands in his. After a nod from both men to confirm their preparation, he dramatically released them and jumped back with a loud, clear, "Go!"

"Look, Kev! A distraction!"

"Where—?"

The brief glance in the indicated direction proved to be Nash's downfall; with his opponent successfully preoccupied, Alex Shelley did the unthinkable and pinned Kevin Nash's thumb for the count of three. Many would come to question the cadence, but as the acting official, Johnny Devine's ruling would stand, leaving Nash with nothing to do but laugh as Shelley shook his hand and then turned to Christy.

"Here's your breaking story, toots," he said, checking to see that the camera was still rolling and focused on him. "As the new number-one contender to the X-Division championship, I am challenging Senshi to a match _tonight_, and I'm sending Johnny to square the deal with Cornette as we speak. The era of Total Nonstop Alex begins _now_."

As Devine left to carry out his duties and Christy wrapped up her precious news coverage, Shelley turned to Nash and grinned. "No hard feelings?"

"Absolutely not! 'Do what it takes to win' – that's what I've been teaching you, right?" Nash conceded, ruffling Shelley's two-toned hair. "But listen, while I've got you alone for a second, I just wanted to talk to you about that Devine character."

"You don't like him?"

"Oh, it's not that. I just don't want to see you get stuck with someone that's gonna drag you down in the end, y'know? I mean, he's a great guy and all…"

Shelley smiled innocently to mask the devious tone that inadvertently slipped into his voice. "Don't worry, Kev. I have no intention of keeping anybody around once they've outlived their usefulness."

"That's my boy. Break a leg out there tonight."

* * *

A range of emotions had manifested in Senshi when he had been told moments after his arrival that he would be defending the X-Division championship that evening rather than competing in the previously-scheduled Four-Way-Dance with Matt Bentley, Frankie Kazarian and Shark Boy.

Annoyance had been the initial reaction; the booking committee had seemed determined to screw around with him for weeks now. First, he had been supposed to defend against Kevin Nash, of all people, after his win over Chris Sabin at Hard Justice. Then Nash had pulled out in favour of a grudge match and so Senshi had been slotted into the aforementioned non-title match. Now he was to be defending again, but the number-one contender had changed. He had slowly shaken his head, rolled his eyes, and wondered how hard it could possibly be to set a pay-per-view card.

Irritation had quickly overtaken mere annoyance when he had discovered _how_ Shelley had come about obtaining the title shot. For such an honour to have been flippantly passed off from one man to another as though they had been exchanging baseball cards had been a slap in the face to both the title and the man who carried it. In his mind, anybody who could not respect the belt did not deserve a shot at it. And nobody had ever slapped him in the face and had lived to tell about it.

That train of thought had escalated his mood into outright aggravation as he had begun to think of the consequences this match-jockeying would actually have on him. The preparation for Nash had been vastly different from what he had then needed to prepare for three other opponents, and then different still to prepare for Shelley. And he had been expected to be ready in a couple of hours!

Senshi had forced himself to calm down; it would not help him to lose his temper and become unfocussed. He was too well-disciplined to allow himself such an amateur mistake, and had therefore isolated himself from the rest of the wrestlers to use what little time he had to review what he knew about Shelley. There were three key components to consider: what kind of moves would he have to watch out for? What were his strengths and weaknesses? And what kind of outside factors would be involved, such as the likelihood of interference from Johnny Devine?

He certainly hadn't been wrong in the latter speculation.

From the moment the opening bell had rung, Devine had made his presence known, whether it had been as subtle as a tap on the leg to throw off Senshi's concentration, as blatant as pulling down on the ropes to send Senshi tumbling from the ring to the outside, or as aggressive as a full-out attack behind the referee's back. Shelley and Devine had mastered every trick and had worked in perfect tandem to keep Senshi off his game.

If that hadn't been enough to push his frustration threshold to the limit, it had quickly become apparent that Senshi had been well-scouted. While his minor hits (if one could consider a knife-edge chop or a mid-body strike from Senshi to be anything other than stiff, let alone _minor_) had been connecting, any high-impact maneuver had proven unsuccessful; Shelley had seen them all coming.

_That video camera_, he had realized. _He's probably got tapes on all of us_.

And it had been these two factors that had cost him in the end. As Senshi had leapt from the top turnbuckle to perform his Warrior's Way double-foot stomp, Devine had smoothly reached beneath the ropes to drag the downed Shelley to safety. Senshi had tucked in his legs to turn the move into a graceful roll, but by the time he had regained his footing, Shelley had already gotten back up. Senshi had turned around into a running enzuiguri; stars had immediately exploded behind his eyes as the flat of Shelley's boot had connected with the side of his head.

Staggering, Senshi had fiercely fought to retain his balance – not an easy task considering that the jarring kick had blown his inner ear, effectively destroying his equilibrium.

Shelley, never one to miss an opportunity, had then locked his arms across Senshi's neck and chest, following up with the Shellshock: a Flatliner-style swinging reverse STO designed to do maximum damage. It had not disappointed; Senshi's head had driven unprotected into the mat and Shelley had rolled him up for the three-count.

Annoyance. Irritation. Aggravation. None of those came anywhere close to describing what Senshi now felt as he watched, squinting through blurred vision, Shelley jovially squeezing _his_ X-Division title to his chest in victory. And as he and Devine made their way backstage, there was but one emotion left in the former champ's mind: the burning desire for revenge.

He had been slapped in the face.

There would be retribution.

One way or another.


	4. Chapter 4

The giant was on his knees.

Kevin Nash was no fool. From the very first time Chris Sabin had stood up to him, he had kept a very close eye on him – _much_ closer than his ego allowed him to let on. It had helped a great deal to have two unsuspecting flunkies in Shelley and Devine at hand to do most of his dirty work, but long before they had reported back on Sabin's considerable change in attitude, Nash had taken notice and had begun to prepare.

But no matter how much he had both mentally and physically readied himself for this new Sabin, he had never in a million years expected to spend the opening five minutes (had it only been _five_?) of the match being mercilessly pummeled without ever landing a single offensive move.

This Sabin was smarter and faster. Gone was the uncertainty in his movements and the self-doubt in his eyes. There was no trace of the fear that had been so obviously present during their first go-round. Instead, the sadistic gleam that had first shown itself during his match with Williams was again shining within Sabin's baby blues. And Nash of all people recognized intent to injure when he saw it.

When he'd started this game, Nash had seen Sabin as a protesting mouse, twisting and struggling as he dangled precariously from the paw of the cat that lived to toy with its food before it devoured it. Now, as both of Sabin's feet connected explosively with the back of Nash's head, he wondered if the boy hadn't been more comparable to a sleeping dragon that he had been incessantly poking with a sharp stick for the last five months.

Hindsight being 20/20, it clearly hadn't been his best idea.

* * *

"What's wrong, old man? Can't keep up with me anymore?"

Sabin found himself genuinely laughing as he mocked Nash in his attempts to get back to his feet. His primary objective coming into the match had been to target the big man's notoriously fragile knees, and he had done so famously, landing shot after crippling shot with pinpoint accuracy. One particularly stiff blow had been rewarded with an audible _pop_. The visible agony it had caused, indicating the extent of the damage that had been done, had been incredibly satisfying.

As Nash now struggled to put weight on his injured leg, the knee buckled and he crashed back to the mat with a cry of pain. Andrew Thomas, the acting official, ordered Sabin to back off while he checked to see if Nash could continue the match. And Sabin, feigning the expected sympathetic cooperation, did as he was told. He slipped unnoticed from the ring and then returned with a steel chair that had been concealed underneath, all the while watching closely for his moment to strike.

He would not have to wait long.

In Thomas's opinion, Nash could not finish and he called for the bell to declare Sabin the winner. But in the second that it took for him to move to the ropes to inform the ring announcer, Jeremy Borash, of his decision, Sabin had broken into a sprint and baseball slid into Nash's blown knee. The big man's howl brought Thomas running to once again ward off the attack, but Sabin proceeded to unceremoniously dump the frantic referee over the top rope and down to the floor.

When he turned around, Sabin was greeted with the most gratifying sight he had ever seen: there was true fear in Kevin Nash's eyes. It was an image that Sabin would come to recall with great delight on several occasions, and it motivated him now to put the final touches on the revenge masterpiece being played out for the stunned audience in attendance.

Andrew Thomas was calling frenetically for security but for whatever the reason none were being dispatched. Sabin, free to do as he pleased, picked up the chair and advanced on Nash. Thomas helplessly looked on as Sabin drove the steel edge into Nash's injured joint. He hit again and watched the knee twist at an awkward and sickening angle.

Sabin felt a rush go through his body as the level of adrenaline already being pumped through his bloodstream increased at the sound of his opponent's cries of pain. Leaning down, he gripped Nash's jaw between his thumb and forefinger and forced him to look him in the eye.

"You know that little voice in the back of your head – the one you probably can't hear right now over your own screams?" he asked as a venomous smile crept across his face. "It's saying that it _tried_ to tell you not to get out of bed this morning. My advice: you should really start listening to it."

Raven and Jackie could be seen making their way toward the ring from their familiar place at the top corner of the stands, and their elation at what their pupil was achieving was clear on their faces. Raven raised a microphone to his lips and addressed the crowd:

"A new age has dawned here today, and it will not be lorded over by those who tote the preposterous belief that 'size matters,' nor by those who still cling to the hope that 'size doesn't matter!'" he boasted, pointing in mockery at the ring where Sabin loomed darkly over Nash. "All that matters is what you are willing to lose. And that is precisely why we are so very dangerous – we have nothing _left_ to lose."

And, as if the point had not yet been clearly made, Sabin dragged Nash to his unsteady feet once more and used his mentor's signature move, the Raven Effect DDT, to drive his skull down onto the steel chair.

Shelley and Devine, in the continuing absence of security, burst onto the scene and, as they raced toward the ring, the trio backed away from their victim. In their moment of passing as Sabin slid out of the ring, he locked eyes with Shelley before coolly shifting his gaze to stare hungrily at the newly-won X-Division title belt that was strapped around his waist. Shelley stood his ground and patted the faceplate, daring Sabin to challenge him for it. Then Raven snapped his fingers and the tense moment had passed as Sabin followed him backstage, leaving Shelley and Devine to clean up his mess.

The two men rolled into the ring and crouched at Nash's side, offering words of encouragement to help him to his feet. Nash leaned heavily on both of their shoulders, putting as little weight as possible on his knee, as they slowly led him to the ropes where he could ease his way to the floor.

And then, as Shelley nodded in response to a glance from Devine, they stepped away from their ally and kicked his legs out from under him.

Nash collapsed back to the mat with a crash and immediately reached for his knee, but Devine quickly grabbed the big man's ankles and folded both limbs around his own leg, turning him over to lock in a Sharpshooter. Shelley retrieved the microphone that Raven had left behind and, with a smug grin plastered all over his visage, squatted next to Nash.

"Like I said, Kev," he drawled. "I have no intention of keeping somebody around once they've outlived their usefulness." Nash snarled something that his agony had twisted beyond recognizable English and took a swipe at his tormentor. Shelley jumped backward in time, however, and stood up laughing.

"Easy now, sport! I would _like_ to think that you could show a _little _appreciation! I mean, at least I didn't use a Finger-poke of Doom. Or a Hummer, for that matter."

Devine sneered gleefully at the shots to Nash's past and cranked up the pressure on the submission hold. What little was left of Nash's strength was fading fast, and the swing he had taken at Shelley had done nothing but knock him off-balance, crumpling the other arm that had been locked to relieve some of the strain on his lower back and legs. Now, with his cheek pressed firmly into the canvas, he could do nothing but listen as Shelley continued to monologue.

"It kills me to say it, Kev," he said, the insincerity positively dripping off his words, "but I'm gonna have to let you go. It's me the people are paying to see now, so do yourself a favour and go fade into obscurity with the rest of the old has-beens around here. I've got a legacy to begin."

As a final parting slap in the face, Shelley threw down the microphone and let it bounce against Nash's head before Devine released the sharpshooter and the two of them exited the ring. Weakly clutching at his extensively injured joint, Nash seethed and watched the pair of turncoats slap high-fives on their way up the ramp as he felt his cheeks burn in humiliation of their betrayal.


	5. Chapter 5

Jerry Lynn's head was spinning.

Jim Cornette was having kittens over what he'd just witnessed during the first half of the pay-per-view, and, quite frankly, Lynn felt ready to join him. The circumstantial chaos under which Alex Shelley had legitimately laid claim to and activated his X-Division title shot had thrown management for a loop but had left them ultimately powerless to stop him. Kevin Nash's decision to back out in favour of a grudge match against Chris Sabin had left the champion, Senshi's dance card wide open and he had therefore been thrown into another match. Shelley's bid to slot in his name as a replacement had simply reinstated the title match that had originally been on the card and therefore, while highly unusual, it was allowed to proceed.

Chris Sabin's decision to make Bound for Glory the second consecutive pay-per-view from which an ambulance had been dispatched with one of his own victims in tow, however, had _not_ been so easily overlooked. Cornette was livid that, on the night of TNA's biggest event to date, security had been as lax as to allow the assault to occur; Lynn had found the guards locked in a utility closet, unconscious and, upon awakening, bewildered as to how they had gotten there.

To top it all off, Lynn had just received word that, while he had been overseeing Nash's extraction from the building, the violent and uncontrollable revolutionary faction LAX had defeated AJ Styles and Christopher Daniels for the NWA Tag Team titles.

The worst part was that the night was not yet over.

Lynn roughly massaged the bridge of his nose as he felt the beginnings of a massive migraine. Apparently the tag title match had been bloody (not that anything less had been expected from the Six Sides of Steel) and, as Lynn quickened his pace, he hoped to God that he wouldn't be sending two more to the hospital.

The thought was suddenly pushed to the back of his mind, however, when he looked up and saw Raven, Jackie and Sabin gathered at the far end of the hallway. Feeling his blood instantly begin to boil, he shouted for their attention; there was no way that they could be allowed to get away with their actions this time.

Much to his surprise, they had no intention of avoiding the encounter.

"Something wrong, Jerry?" Raven asked as innocently as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Aside from the questionable security here tonight, naturally."

"You just can't buy good help these days," Sabin grinned.

"You're damn right there's something wrong," Lynn replied, ignoring their blatant baiting. He calmed his tone before he spoke and looked Raven directly in the eyes. "I want a word with you."

"You may have several, if you so wish."

"In private."

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of my family."

Lynn gritted his teeth as Raven emphasized his point by wrapping his arms around the shoulders of Jackie and Sabin. Pointedly ignoring Sabin's mocking gaze, he maintained eye contact with Raven.

"Don't think that I don't see what you're doing," he said matter-of-factly. "Anyone who was there in ECW remembers the stunts you pulled when you had the Nest to do your dirty work. It's not too many years ago for some of us here to recall the Gathering. And if Nash wasn't so obsessed with his glory days with the nWo in WCW, he'd have remembered the Flock."

"Thanks for the history lesson, Gramps," Sabin snorted.

"What's your point?" Raven smiled knowingly.

"Every 'family' you formed had one purpose. You're after the NWA title, aren't you?"

"Now, now, Jerry," Jackie cooed. "That would be telling."

"It's not exactly rocket science," Lynn shot back. "Jarrett and D'Amore screwed you out of your title at Controversy in Canada. Then Zbyszko made sure that you never got your rematch. _Anybody_ would want revenge, and you just so happen to be one of the few who know how to get it."

"Not that the flattery isn't appreciated, Jerry, but I'm afraid that I'm going to have to stop you before you launch into some painfully cliché tirade about how 'this isn't the way to go about getting what's owed to me,'" Raven replied, every word coated in the most condescending undertone imaginable. "So please, for all of our sakes, refrain from wasting your breath – and my time – reciting whatever archaic code of honour you happen to follow. You and I both know that, quite frankly, it has no place _here_, and can certainly no longer apply once war has been declared."

"What war-?" Lynn began, but was cut off; Raven was not yet finished.

"And, as with any other war, there have been, and will be more casualties. As usual, you and everybody else are lagging a _minimum _of two-to-three steps behind in trying to predict what happens next, but, luckily for you, I hold more respect for you than for the rest of the peons. I will therefore extend to you this rare piece of advice: before you concern yourself with the actions of my family and me, I suggest that you keep close watch on your own fledglings. It's amazing the trouble children can get into when they go out to play unsupervised."

It was impossible to misinterpret; Lynn caught the threatening glint in Raven's eye and felt an overwhelming urge to head to ringside. After a look that clearly read '_this isn't over_,' he hastily left without a word and made his way back through the building to the entrance tunnel where he was just in time to witness the gruesome end to the current match.

Chase Stevens of the Naturals stood tall atop the nearest turnbuckle with a dazed Jay Lethal in his grasp. Turning to look across the ring, he nodded to his partner, Andy Douglas, who presented an exact mirror image with Sonjay Dutt serving as his prey. A pair of wooden tables had been stacked on the floor below them, where their manager Shane Douglas prowled between their positions. On his command, and before Lynn could react, the Naturals dove in perfect poetic unison outside the ring, executing symmetrical powerbombs to drive their helpless opponents through the timber to the barely-padded concrete floor.

The bell immediately rang; referee Rudy Charles had had no choice but to declare the Naturals the winners, knowing full well that Dutt and Lethal were in no shape to continue. And as Lynn rushed to the ring to tend to his young charges and to get Charles' account of what had transpired, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the look of satisfaction on the face of the Franchise that told him that this had been no spur-of-the-moment decision.

It had been a tactical strike.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. As the second ambulance to pull out of the parking lot that night disappeared around a corner en route to the hospital, Lynn tried desperately to gather his thoughts. While it would have temporarily made him feel better to beat Shane Douglas senseless, the man, along with the Naturals, had mysteriously vanished. He tried in vain to again find Raven, who had more-or-less indicated that he had known perfectly well about Dutt and Lethal's then-impending doom, and was therefore likely responsible. Not surprisingly (as if he had only been caught earlier that night because he had, in fact, _wanted_ to be caught) he was gone.

Lynn felt the frustration in every breath that he sucked through his clenched teeth as he now stalked back toward Cornette's office. Clenched in his hand were the papers upon which he had drawn up his reports on the nature of the injuries that had necessitated the ambulances: Nash's extensive knee damage and Dutt and Lethal's suspected head and neck trauma. On his way to deliver them he passed AJ Styles and Christopher Daniels; the two men were receiving several stitches to close the deep, bloody gashes from the unforgiving steel mesh (among the other weapons LAX had employed). After exchanging brief nods he continued on course, but was taken by surprise when the door flew open as he raised his fist to knock.

"Jerry," Cornette's eyes were shining with excitement – quite the opposite emotion from earlier in the evening. "Come and see this. Something good may actually come out of this disaster of a night." He motioned to the closed-circuit television that sat in the corner of his office showing the NWA World Heavyweight Championship match that was already underway.

The crowd was solidly behind Sting, desperate to see Jeff Jarrett's reign of terror come to an end. Lynn raised an eyebrow; while the build-up leading into this confrontation had been immense, these days it usually took a bit more to get him worked up to watch a match. There was something different here, however, that forced him to take another, longer look. Whether it was the altered face paint that incorporated a splash of red, the faster jump in his step, the more intense look in his eyes, or a combination of all three, there was an undeniable change in the man called Sting. The crowd had sensed it and had long since been sent into a frenzy; they cheered wildly for Sting and jeered even louder at anything Jarrett did.

It was no surprise then, when the crowd erupted as Jarrett's hand struck the mat, tapping out to Sting's dreaded Scorpion Deathlock and relinquishing his championship, that Lynn and Cornette found themselves caught up in the moment, shouting their elation and applauding the outcome.

That was when the other shoe dropped.

Sting's music was silenced and his victory was cut short as the house lights went out and were replaced by red floods that bathed the _Impact Zone_ in an eerie scarlet hue. The crowd became very quiet and looked to Sting where he stood in the ring as though he could offer them some explanation. The expression on his face revealed him to be just as confused as any of them.

A spotlight then cut through the crimson haze and directed all eyes to the rafters. Six figures were gathered directly above Sting's position, the light casting haunting shadows on their faces as they looked down on him. When Lynn saw who they were, he swore loudly at himself for not predicting their actions:

Andy Douglas.

Chase Stevens.

Shane Douglas.

Jackie Gayda.

Chris Sabin.

Raven.

"Behold our new champion! An idealistic fool who relies too heavily on his romanticized morals to vanquish those he deems evil and – cancerous, if I recall correctly, was the term you used to describe Jeff Jarrett? I, for one, cannot disagree with such an accurate depiction, but alas, unfortunately for you, things are not _always_ so black and white. And I assure you: the pun was fully intended.

"Did you really think that you could so boldly swoop in and lay claim to what was not rightfully yours to take? Tonight, Sting, you will learn that this is Raven's territory, and I have now set in motion that which will return to me the destiny that I so long ago heralded as mine."

Raven paused just long enough to let his words sink in, he and his allies frozen in an unsettling tableau like six birds of prey patiently waiting for their time to strike. Though their bodies remained still their eyes reflected anticipation; Sabin in particular seemed to radiate with the energy of his newfound bloodlust that had barely been quenched by his ruthless decimation of Kevin Nash. As Raven raised the microphone to speak again, the looming sense of dread in the air drew more heavily around those in his captive audience.

"As one who donned the mantle of the crow so many years ago, Sting, you must be aware that the raven is said to be a harbinger of doom and death. Now you, among a very specific few, have been marked, and thus commences a war unlike any of which TNA has yet witnessed. And in the end, when all the blood has been spilled and Fate smiles upon those she has judged worthy of victory, The Omen shall reign supreme, as our new destiny has foretold.

"Quoth the Raven: nevermore."

And as the red faded and the house lights came back on over a stunned crowd and a jilted champion, revealing no trace of those who had seconds ago demanded their full and undivided attention, Jerry Lynn and Jim Cornette became suddenly aware that they had not been alone in the office watching the broadcast.

"Subtle, as always," Alex Shelley said sarcastically and cast a sideways glance at Johnny Devine who stood, arms folded and lower jaw set, at his side. As he readjusted the X-Division title belt that was slung over his shoulder, he added, "Three guesses as to the rest of their targets."

"I still find it hard to believe that you the two of you had nothing to do with this," Lynn narrowed his eyes at them.

"Oh, yeah, like I was really looking to orchestrate the return of the biggest head-case in the biz just so he could gather a shiny new batch of freaks and proceed to turn TNA into Bizarroworld. That would definitely have been the most logical COA," Shelley rolled his eyes. "Like I told your cronies last time they went all Black and Tan on me: I had nothing to do with it."

Cornette raised his hands in an attempt to regain authority of the situation. "Listen, Alex, as much as I hate to say it," he drawled in his thick Kentucky accent, "I need your help. Security as it is obviously can't cut it and, while I don't condone your actions tonight, I simply cannot afford the body count that Raven and his boys are racking up."

"Jim-" Lynn began, shooting his boss an incredulous _you-can't-be-serious_ look but Cornette shook his head.

"Jerry, I've got four guys out of action because of them, and no matter which way you want to go about looking at it, that costs me money. My hands are tied here; this is strictly business."

"And on that note, Jimbo, you've got yourself a deal," Shelley grinned, extending his free hand to shake Cornette's before he could comment on the nickname. "It just so happens that I've already got something cooking up in the old noodle. If it's war Raven wants, then it's war Raven'll get."

**End of Act Two**


End file.
